


Plan B

by IAmTheBadWolf



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, F/M, Pining, Romance, Talking, The Doctor Loves Rose Tyler, but not really, initial mickey/rose, tgitf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheBadWolf/pseuds/IAmTheBadWolf
Summary: Post The Girl in the Fireplace, Rose and Mickey get wasted and make a questionable decision. This leads to a very odd night out for the Doctor and Rose.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Unplanned

“It’s not an exact science or anything... You just sort of walk around ‘til you find where you’re going.” Rose says, pulling Mickey through the TARDIS halls. The corridors seem to stretch out for miles, and for the first time she actually wishes the TARDIS could be less big on the inside.

“I’m starting to get how you never shut up about this place,” Mickey says. 

Rose keeps walking, face blank, past the bottom of a towering spiral staircase. 

“What’s up there?” He asks.

“The wardrobe. Do you think I should go back and check on him?”

“What?”

“The Doctor, I should go talk to him. He seemed so...” 

Mickey squeezes her hand. “He wants to be alone.” 

“No one wants to be alone.” 

“Okay, so he wants to be with her.”

“Stop it.

“Sara Jane, Madame De Pompadour,  _ Cleo _ …

“This I told you so thing, it’s not a good look.” She drops his hand, pulling herself a few steps away from him. 

“Sorry.”

For a few paces the only sound is their footsteps echoing through the impossibly long hall. Mickey wonders if Rose is taking him anywhere specific, or too lost in thought to care. Finally, she interrupts the silence.

“She died... right in front of him like... one second she’s there one second she’s not... is that what we all feel like to him?”

Mickey doesn’t answer. Rose stops in front of a twisting coral doorway. She ponders going in. She really should go back, and see if he’s done brooding. But she’s pissed off, and the idea of trying to set the record straight when he’s so sad doesn’t sit right. She’d probably end up not saying anything that could be upsetting, because she hates seeing him so down, even if he deserves it.

She just needs to take the edge off a bit. She steps through the threshold, beckoning Mickey forward. 

“So what’s this room then?” Mickey asks.

“Sort of a kitchen.”

“Sort of?” He follows her. The room is covered with the same round pattern as the console room, and there’s a table made from the rusted metal grating.

“I thought we could both use a drink, after almost being hacked apart.” She bends down, rummaging in a cabinet. “Then I’ll talk to him,” she adds, quieter.

“The TARDIS has booze onboard?”

“She has everything.” She pulls out a large bottle halfway filled with clear liquid. “Jack bought us this ages ago- hypervodka.” She takes out two dingy shot glasses and places them atop of the metal grated table. Her nose wrinkles up as she unscrews the cap and pours them both a shot.

“It’s like… Three times stronger than what you’re used to,” Rose cautions, too late. Mickey’s already gagging just from holding the glass under his nose.

He eyes it hesitantly before they both tip the shots back into their throats. The liquor hits roughly at the back of his throat, burning so hard he can’t help but cough and sputter like a teenager. Finally, Rose cracks a real smile at him.

“It’s not that bad!” She slaps his shoulder playfully.

“Not at all,” he says, voice scratchy in between dry heaves.

Then Rose’s senses dull in the best way, and everything’s loopy. Or maybe making more sense, because honestly,  _ fuck _ the uncrowned queen of France, and not like _ that _ . And fuck that stupid horse, and fuck five and a half hours. Who gives a single shit about history, or linear timelines or whatever. 

Then her mind flashes to the Doctor, in the console room, being so obviously  _ not _ alright. He’d been overjoyed when he’d made it back through the fireplace, and now he’s just...

“You’re thinking about the Doctor again,” Mickey says.

“We are on his ship. Drinking his vodka.”

“Thought you said it was Captain Jack’s.”

“Did she have to be blonde?” Rose says suddenly, ramming her shot glass back to the table so hard the entire grating vibrates.

“Ha! Knew you were jealous,” Mickey says, pouring them both another round.

“I’m not. I’m just saying.” Rose downs the second shot, the hypervodka dribbling inelegantly down her chin. 

“He just left us there. He didn’t even think.” Mickey’s more serious now. Rose’s brow furrows, itching to defend the Doctor. How dare Mickey accuse him of… Anything right now, not after he’d just lost someone else. 

“He came back. He’ll always come back.” She wants to believe it, she does believe it. Until Sarah Jane’s grief stricken face creeps into her mind, and her certainty falters. He might  _ not _ . 

Mickey’s hand lifts to her cheek, his thumb wiping at the dripping liquor. The room is spinning now. “I’d never leave you like that.”

His touch is warm, nice even. “I know.”

“So why him?”

“He’s... You don’t know him-”

“Right now I’m feeling like I know his type pretty well,” Mickey says, his hand still flush with Rose’s face. 

“How do you mean?”

She stares blankly, Mickey looking at her like whatever he’s about to say is ridiculously obvious. 

“Jimmy Stone.”

Her cheeks redden, and she shoots back in the chair, but her balance is off and she ends up falling butt-first onto the grated floor. How dare he even  _ insinuate  _ that the Doctor is anything like that  _ drop out of school for me  _ fucking good for nothing _ arsehole _ .

“You have no idea what you’re talking about." She tries to keep an even tone as she picks herself up, and plops back down in the chair, swaying like all the blood in her body is sand in a molasses filled hourglass. 

“Flashy older guy comes ‘round, impresses the pants off you and then swans off with other women while you’re making excuses for him? Does that not ring a bell?”

“The Doctor’s not like that.”

“What’s he like then?”

“You’ve seen him… He’s- he’ll do anything for the universe, anything he can to help people, aliens, anywhere… And the places we go… The things we see...”

“You deserve more than time and space Rose.”

She wants to say something else.  _ What do I deserve then? What could compare to the universe? _ But instead she looks right at Mickey, his expression so genuinely sweet, and she’s sixteen  again, sobbing over Jimmy and £800 of debt. 

He shifts his chair over so he’s right next to her now, his hand settling on her upper arm. He used to hold he r like this all the time, after Jimmy, or even just as a kid, when she’d fail a test or get in another argument with Shareen. 

She wonders how the Doctor would react if he saw the adoration Mickey’s looking at her with. He’d probably pretend not to care, later insulting Mickey to the point where Rose would be mildly annoyed but also somewhat elated that he was jealous, in his own repressed way.

Mickey brushes a lock of hair from out of her flushed face to behind her ear, then settles his hand on her cheek again, still staring at her. He’d been kind of useless on the ship after the Doctor left, but at least he’d been there. And she knows he’s right, he wouldn't leave her, ever. Even if she left him alone a year and accidentally framed him for murder. She’s not sure what she did to earn that loyalty, but she has. 

Her eyes wander down from his love-stricken expression towards his lips that she hasn’t  _ really _ kissed in so long. She hasn't properly kissed anyone in half a year, and she can’t deny that it’s a bit tempting, what with him looking at her like that and his hand on her arm and God, she has been sexually frustrated for like, months, since she met the new-new Doctor, since before that, really. But maybe that’s why she shouldn’t kiss him, since she’s so obviously carrying a torch for the Doctor, but then again maybe she should, because today the Doctor obviously didn’t give much of a shit about her. 

Fuck it. She leans in, softly pressing her lips to his. It’s so familiar, like a liquor fueled nostalgia trip through the time vortex, taking her back before TARDIS, and the Doctor. His hands graze her waist, and then slip further down where the Doctor would never dare. Her breath hitches. It’s been so long. It’s the alcohol, it’s not a big deal. 

She pulls herself up and into his lap, the kissing growing more sloppy and awkward but still sweet. Her knees keep jutting into the metal grating of the galley table as she moves on top of him. His hands thread through her hair, like he always used to do, catching a bit on her hoop earrings. 

Finally, she pulls away, face hot, panting a bit, and seriously, she cannot sit with him in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair for any longer. 

“My bedroom’s across the hall…” Mickey nods dumbly.

She pulls him into her room, hoping somewhere not so deep down that the Doctor happens to be lurking in the hallway nearby, and hears their breathy whispers and the click of the locking door.  _ Serves him right.  _

Mickey’s on her bed, in the TARDIS. World’s colliding. Everything’s still spinning from the vodka. If she lets herself think, she sees the Doctor on that horse, smashing through the mirror. 

_ Don’t think then _ . She runs her tongue along Mickey’s bottom lip and then bites down, a bit too rough. Her fingers graze down his sides until she’s tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. His kisses migrate from her lips to her cheek to just above her collarbone and she wonders for a moment how the Doctor’s sideburns would feel against the crook of her neck. _ Stop thinking about him.  _

She shuts her eyes, and there’s Reinette’s patronizing gaze. Calling her  _ Child _ . She kisses Mickey so hard he grunts under her and fumbles for her purple shirt. Then it’s on the floor.

“Rose?” Mickey starts, knowing there’s more he should probably be saying. She’s acting off and he really does want her to be okay, but it’s hard to think clearly about much when she’s on top of him like this. 

“I’m just-” She starts. She wants this! To feel desired again. To know she can have that, even if  _ he’s  _ too stubborn or masochistic or she’s not…  _ World renowned _ enough. So she gives up on finishing her sentence and crushes her lips on Mickey’s again, her hands taking it upon themselves to claw at the button of his jeans.

She imagines the Doctor hovering in the doorway, eyes dark, watching her as she slides off Mickey’s jeans. He’d probably be all stoic about it regardless of how fuming or turned on it made him. He’d just glower and swallow dramatically and _Oncoming Storm_ _stare_ at her and even just that thought sends heat between her legs. 

Mickey’s not stupid. He can see the way her eyes keep hovering over towards the door. And she’s never been quite this desperate about getting his clothes off, all the while barely looking at him. She’s thinking about someone else, and getting off on it, and the fact that he’s having an emotional threesome with the Doctor should piss him off more, but he’s so drunk and her mouth is...  _ fuck _ .

The liquor proves helpful in smoothing over the removing clothing and refiguring out how to fit together. And as the pressure builds Rose’s imagined Doctor is still in the doorway, glaring daggers at her. She breathes out Mickey’s name. He left her. He deserves this, her losing control for someone else. She grinds down faster, hips moving more erratically, and Mickey’s not complaining. 

Afterwards she rolls off of Mickey, both of them still breathing heavily. She stares at the ceiling and the round tiles throw her. What the fuck is she doing? The Doctor’s lamenting another loss, more depressed than she’s seen him in months, and she’s what? Shagging her sort-of ex boyfriend?

She shoots up from the bed. Hands shaking, grabbing clothes from around the room. God hypervodka is strong, only two shots in and everything’s still muddled, her balance off. Granted it was on practically an empty stomach and God, why’d she do this to herself. She’s so stupid. Her knuckles grow white clenched to the edges of the sink in her ensuite bathroom. Eventually her breathing slows almost back to normal and she splashes herself with cold water and pulls on the first top and jeans she grabbed from on the floor.

She emerges from the bathroom, staring down at the floor tiles and Mickey’s goddamn jeans as she pads towards the doorway. “I’m... I’ve got to go.” 

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

For the first time since the kissing started, she meets his eyes. She sees hurt, but not surprise. Then she shuts the door. 


	2. Plan A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose goes to see the Doctor in the console room, and makes an unfortunate realization.

At the click of her closing bedroom door, Rose shivers in the TARDIS hallway. 

Mickey’s alone, in her bed. She’s being an arsehole, for some reason the TARDIS is fucking freezing, like it’s out to punish her. And despite the fact that she’s still cross with him and now has added a layer of guilt to that, she needs to see the Doctor.

She knows where he’ll be, so she sets off for the console room, finding, thankfully, that she’s starting to sober up a bit from the hypervodka buzz. 

She’s looking for trouble, but she has to talk to him. And tell him she’s worked up about France so nothing unspoken builds up between them, but also she can’t do that, because they don’t do that. The last actual  _ talk _ they had was in the school, and she can still see his tight expression, dark eyes, reminding her she’s gonna wither and die, and  _ soon _ . And now she’s seen it happen firsthand- Reinette a child, adult, then dead, and they’re home in time for tea.

He’s not immediately visible in the console room, but she hears clanging sounds and knows he’s under floor panels somewhere. There’s an open letter on the jump seat with loopy cursive handwriting- Reniette’s no doubt. Her stomach curdles.

She can’t help it. She plops down on the seat and leans over the letter.  _ My Dear Doctor.  _ Really?  _ Her _ Dear Doctor? 

Reading stealthily while the note is upside down and she’s more than a little buzzed proves too difficult, so she caves, and holds the letter up closer to her face.

She scans further down. Reinette had seen inside his mind somehow. Time did move faster on Reniette’s side of the time window thing. Five and a half hours for her had been how long for him? He hadn’t said, of course. Repressed alien git never  _ says _ anything. Had he been trapped there for weeks, months, years? And he’d let her in his head, not like metaphorically in his head, but like actually, literally in his head?

Suddenly, letting Mickey in her bedroom didn’t seem that bad. 

_ Hurry though, my love. My days grow shorter now, and I am so very weak. God speed, my lonely angel. _

She pictures Reinette, still so young, alone at a desk, hands feeble with illness as she writes, praying to the enigmatic man who had promised her the stars and then abandoned her _.  _ The Doctor must be suffocating under the weight of letting her down. For a moment sympathy overpowers Rose’s jealousy. Could they really not cross the timeline, go back just for  _ one  _ hour, to show Reniette a star? If they just  _ told  _ her to write the note anyway...

A throat clearing sounds from across the room, and she jumps. The Doctor’s staring at her from the other side of the console.

“Sorry I- “ She deftly drops the note back down next to her, not fast enough.

He waves her off. “Don’t be, who could resist?”

He still looks broody though, and moves his eyes back to the TARDIS controls, running his fingers along the rusted buttons and levers.

“Are you sure you’re alright Doctor?” She asks again, her eyes flashing towards the discarded note next to her. Can he smell the sex on her? The liquor, no doubt.

“I told you, I’m always alright.”

“That’s stupid.”

He doesn’t respond, his mouth just a tight line across his face.

“Did you-”  _ Love her, Kiss her, fuck her _ ? 

“Where should we go next?” He interrupts, ever the avoider. 

She goes along with it. “Well, we just knocked the past and future off Mickey’s list in one go… I’d say an alien planet?”

He grins too widely. “Brilliant thinking, Rose Tyler,”

How dare he say her name like that, like he’s worshipping it. Not after today, after he left her and after she... Mickey’s probably still in her room, wishing she’d come back but knowing she won’t. Guilt winds its way around her system. He was just trying to make her feel better, and she just left him. Again.

Her head is clearing, leaving her with waves of nausea and with a sinking realization that she’s missing something important. She combs through the past 48 hours in her mind.  _ Sarah Jane, Reniette, the spaceship, hypervodka, Mickey in her bed... _

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The Doctor has started to babble on about something, but she can’t hear it. Her face goes white. Fuck.

“Are you alright?”

“I- I’m always alright.” It’s meant to be funny but she stumbles over the words. 

“Rose-” 

“Er. I’ve just realized.”

“Realized what?”

“Is there a… Could you take me to a pharmacy or something?” She asks, suddenly extremely interested in picking at the jump seat fabric. 

He paces over, and presses a cool hand on her forehead. It sticks unpleasantly to a sheen of sweat that no doubt smells like booze. “Are you sick?”

“No! I’m not. I just forgot…. I’ve been on the TARDIS for so long, and I didn’t need…” Seriously, they’re both adults. She takes a breath, putting aside all mortification for the next few seconds. “I stopped taking birth control… When I ran out, like a few months ago. And I need some.”

“What?” From the raise of his eyebrows she knows he’s thinking a mile a minute, parsing together what exactly she’s asking him. 

Rose’s face is hot. “Not… condoms, like the morning after pill or something.”

Realization dawns on him, his eyes flickering from her to the hallway entry.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you and…?”

“Yeah... Sorry.”

Not that she needs to say sorry. As if he hadn’t just had his own whole thing with _ that woman _ . She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought the two of them had something, whatever it was, that shouldn’t be interrupted by other people. But they didn’t. Or did. Whatever.

The Doctor sniffs, his eyes shifting away, looking anywhere but at Rose.

“No need. Perfectly natural reaction to stress… Humans are notorious across the galaxy for their propensity to use sexual intercourse as a form of… Emotional relief. Leave you lot alone anywhere for five and a half hours and of course you’ll start… Erm...  _ dancing _ .”

Rose gapes. He thinks it happened on the ship. He really thinks she’d what? Get bored of staring at a wall, think  _ who cares if the Doctor might never come back, might have died, whatever, I’ll just go shag Mickey Smith. _

She spent five and a half hours waiting, reassuring Mickey a thousand times that the Doctor would come back, running about the ship, searching any way to get back to him, to help him. 

“What you think we just can’t control it- we’re just like animals or-“

“That’s not what I said!”

“What about you and Reniette then, Doctor? You were alone for at least five and a half hours."

“I’m not a human.” His tone is laced with a superiority that makes her blood boil.

She doesn’t respond, just glares anywhere but at him and God she’s fucking this up even more, and he’s so… Alien. 

The Doctor’s jaw is tight, his hands forced in his pockets as he takes a step back, towards the console. He studies Rose, her furrowed eyebrows and beet red face illustrating that she’s decidedly not happy, and definitely still somewhat under the influence. The note next to her reminds him just how shitty the past hours have been, and he really does not need to add in this extremely _domestic_ fight with her. 

“Honestly, Rose, it’s fine. He’s your boyfriend. I said he could come.”

“Not like I needed your approval,” she says stiffly. “Just need you to drive.”

The silence that surfaces is tense. He’s so nonchalant. This isn’t the angry Oncoming Storm reaction she’d pictured. But had she really expected him to wear his hearts on his sleeve like that? She shuts her eyes and wills her face to cool down. She hears the tinny footsteps of converse across the grated floor and the familiar sound of the Doctor programming in a new destination. 

Silently, he flicks a lever. The TARDIS lurches forward and back and an intense wave of nausea crashes into Rose, she’s gonna be sick- hypervodka’s a bitch. Her fingernails are almost splitting the fabric of the seat as she squeezes it, trying not to vomit. The TARDIS spins violently and she leans forward, dry heaving over the metal grating.

“Rose!” The Doctor’s hands are on her shoulders, one pulling back her hair. The TARDIS slows to a stop as it lands, and her stomach settles. 

“I’m fine,” she bristles, shaking his hands off her. She stands up and marches to the front door. “Where are we then?”

“80th century planet in the Nucleon galaxy. Contraception technology has gotten significantly less archaic since your time. Still an oral medication, but the active ingredients are not hormonal- no nausea or side effects of any kind. Which in your current state,” he sniffs in deeply again, “is probably for the best.”

She ignores the slight dig. “So how does it work?”

“It changes time, literally. Goes into your body and turns back the clock. Actually makes you physically about 24 hours younger- using it too often can have nasty side effects. It does add an interesting layer to ethical questions in terms of contraception, since the fetus technically speaking was never conceived. Tons of lawsuits! Discussions about the personhood of potential timelines. You lot can never agree on anything.”

_ That’s what you love about us _ , Rose should say, and beam up at him. But her arms remain heavy at her sides. Only like thirty minutes ago she’d been ripping off Mickey’s clothes,  _ wanting _ to hurt the Doctor. As if the Doctor was the jealous teenager type and Mickey’s feelings were fucking negligible. If anyone’s the Jimmy Stone of all this, it’s her.

She opens the TARDIS door and steps into the chilled evening air. Snow crunches under her trainers. She should go back to get more than her thin hoodie, but she doesn’t want to risk running into Mickey. Besides, she deserves to be uncomfortable anyway. 

“So where is this alien pharmacy?” She asks after the Doctor shuts the door behind them. Wherever they’ve landed is very urban, the landscape lined with towering floating skyscrapers. It’s breathtaking, as usual, everything aglow from the city lights. 

They’re in an alleyway of some sort. She steps forward out of the dark and under a hovering streetlight. The Doctor walks ahead, implying she should follow. 

The main street is even more gorgeous, and Rose can’t suppress a short inhale of awe, though he doesn’t even react. It’s ridiculous, Rose realizes, that even on a late night rendez-vous buying birth control of all things, he’s still impressing her. 

The double clear glass doors vanish automatically as they approach a small hole-in- the-wall type shop. Inside is what looks to be an ordinary vending machine. The Doctor flicks his sonic at it until something inside falls down with a plunking sound. 

Rose bends down, reaching through the flap at the bottom, and like the glass doors it vanishes as her hand gets near. Her fingers close around a small aluminum tube. 

“This it?” She asks, studying it. It looks like a travel sized toothpaste.

“Mmhmm. Just a pea sized squeeze on the back of your tongue will do.” He inhales again, leaning towards the tube. “Might be a bit bitter.”

She starts to unscrew the cap, but the Doctor’s staring at her. “What?”

“You don’t have to… I mean, I hope you don’t feel like you need to take this because of… I’d never want to-”

Rose cuts him off. “You think I want to risk having Mickey’s baby?”

“I don’t know! He’s got good… Well, mediocre… Well… Passable computer skills.”

Her cheeks are burning again. “All I want is for this to never have happened.”

Despite his brave face moments ago, the Doctor looks relieved. Rose squeezes out a tiny amount of the goo on to her finger and reaches for her mouth. He grabs her hand and gently lowers it.

“Best wait ‘till we get back to the TARDIS. The time-alteration might leave you a bit disoriented for a minute or two.”

“Thought you said no side effects.”

“Well… Hardly any.”

They step through the threshold of the store, and are greeted by flashing mauve lights and a siren so loud it shakes the pavement.

“Hands up! You’re under arrest! Violation of the Human Procreation Act of 9017! Drop the contraband!” Seven bulky reptilian-humanoid creatures shout at once, pointing large metal canisters at the Doctor and Rose. Clearly some sort of lethal threat. The aluminum tube clangs to the ground as Rose frantically raises her arms.

“Not 80th century then… 90th...” The Doctor realizes under his breath.

“Quiet!” The creature shoves his canister closer, clicking it menacingly. The other men have surrounded them, forcing them to march forwards.

“I think you’ll find I don’t do quiet. And I need to know where you're taking us- and how we can appeal. I assure you we are not breaking any laws at all Mr… What’s your name?”

“Classified.”

“Funny name, Mr. Classified. Kinda like that- quite enigmatic. Love a good enigmatic name, I’ve kinda got a bit of that myself-“

“It’s not-" The reptile man starts, then clears his throat. "You’re under arrest. You can appeal when the 4:00 am shift starts."

“4:00 am shift? That’s in what? Six hours? Too long, don’t you think, for two innocent tourists. if you could just call the judge- five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for I swear-“

“His shift is over. Next shift at 4:00 am.”

“Yeah I got that, just give us five minutes- two even! This is a complete misunderstanding!”

“His shift is over. Next shift at 4:00 am.”

It’s Rose’s turn to shout now. “Listen you… Lizard things, I’ve had a hell of a day, almost got sliced apart by clockwork droids, met Madame De Pompadour, was abandoned on a spaceship, and had a bit to drink, and I’m not about to be thrown in jail for nothing! So why don’t you shut up, put those guns away and talk to us!”

“You have violated the human procreation act of 9017. You will speak to the judge at 4:00 am.”

The mauve flashing gets brighter, and the last thing Rose sees is the Doctor's panicked face, before she falls to the pavement. 


End file.
